


If you light the fuse you know that I'll react

by littlecountrymouse



Series: Went down the darkest alley to find you [1]
Category: Animal Kingdom (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, like that is the entire plot of this sucker, off-screen rape by other male character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 08:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecountrymouse/pseuds/littlecountrymouse
Summary: Adrian gets woken up at three AM by a hurt, high Deran asking for his help.Sure, he’s supposed to be heading off to the QS in just over twelve hours but Deran has nearly always been the priority. Why would now be any different?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iresposts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iresposts/gifts).



> Hello everyone, here I am again!  
> Now, I'm guessing everyone knows by now that my thing is fluff, angst, and hurt/comfort, all wrapped up with a Disney-esque ending. That's been repeated again here, but in a 15k chaptered version :)  
> I hope the subject matter doesn't distress anyone too much, but I can say that the rape isn't on screen, and it isn't between Adrian and Deran. If you'd like more info before reading, drop me a comment or get in touch with me on dixiethumbelina.tumblr.com and I'm happy to give you spoilers so you can decide if it's something you wanna read.  
> I also have four more parts of this thing as a series to come, 1 of which is complete and the others are nearly there, so hopefully you enjoy this!  
> Thank you so very much to allthehearteyes for all your editing and Americanising for me, and Iresposts for encouraging this idea shamelessly and pointing me in the right direction as I wrote it. I hope this is everything you were hoping it would be, guys.

***

Adrian wakes up to his phone insistently ringing from under his pillow, the vibration buzzing in his head like a swarm of bees and making his teeth ache. He doesn’t even look at who’s calling before he slides to answer it and flops onto his back with a thud.

“Hello?” 

There’s only rustling and heavy, choked breathing, like someone’s jerking off into the speaker. 

“Hello?” Adrian groans when he catches sight of the time. Three in the fucking morning on a Tuesday, and he’s got a full day ahead cleaning out the rest of his house before he heads out for the first heat. Jesus, he doesn’t need this. 

When the noises keep going, he pulls the phone away from his ear and groans again when he sees who’s calling. 

“Deran, for fuck’s sake, if you woke me up for this I’m going to kill you.” 

He wonders if giving him that photo was the best decision, if this is what he’s opened himself up to. But he’d thought Deran had grown up enough not to be attempting weird phone sex booty calls in the early hours of the morning. 

Deran just whines, his breathing ramping up until it sounds more like he’s crying.

Shit.

Adrian sits up, any thoughts of hanging up disappearing. He can’t think of anything that would have Deran that distressed, but whatever it is must be big.

“Deran, are you okay?”

The horrible, hurt-animal noise stops, but that ragged breathing keeps going.

“Deran?”

_"Fuck.”_ It’s muffled, like Deran’s talking through water, but after a moment more of rustling, Deran’s voice comes through clearer, if thready. “Adrian?”

“Yeah, man. You alright?” Maybe he’s just drunk at the bar and butt-dialled Adrian while he was jerking off. Maybe it’s something where they’ll be able to laugh it off with a few beers when he gets home. 

“No.” Deran’s voice is wrong, frightened and far too small, and Adrian’s chest aches at the sound of it. It’s been a very long time since he’s heard Deran sound like that. “Can you come get me?” 

Fuck. “Yeah, of course.” Adrian rolls out of bed, tripping over himself trying to get back into yesterday’s dirty clothes on the floor, because he can’t be bothered finding clean ones out of his bag. “Where are you?”

“Um. Down near Ox’s mom’s, I think? At the old arcade.” 

“Alright, sure. I’ll be there soon.” The confusion is weird - they both know this town inside out and back to front. Adrian is pretty sure they’d be able to find their way around blindfolded if they had to. He wonders if Deran is high or hit his head or something. 

“Okay.” 

Adrian waits for Deran to hang up first, like he always has in the past, in such a rush to get off the phone so nobody suspects they’re talking. But Deran doesn’t, this time. He’s silent other than the odd gasping breath, but he stays on the line, like he’s waiting for Adrian to say something.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone?” He’s nearly out the door, just trying to find his car keys, and ah, there they are. On top of the box of things he’ll leave at Chad’s for when he’s back in Oceanside between heats. He stares at the pocketknife next to them for a second, then decides it’s worth bringing as well, even though it’s tiny. God only knows what Deran’s gotten himself into. “Or ring Craig or something?”

Whatever Deran needs, Adrian will do it. 

“No. No, s’okay. I tried him first, I think.” His voice slurs like he’s drunk, reinforcing the idea that maybe he’s taken something. “Tried ‘em all. Nobody answered.” 

Adrian hates them sometimes. It’s never escaped his notice how Deran is last on the pecking order, the last priority even though he’s the second youngest now. Craig’s always been lazy or off scoring, Pope is fucking insane, Baz is essentially a male version of Smurf, and J’s heading the same way. But if they ‘need’ Deran, he has to be there pronto.

“It’s all good, you got hold of me at least. You there alone?” The car starts first try, which is awesome. Adrian’s been waiting for the battery to give up completely, and every time he goes to start it, he’s always left wondering if this will be the time it gives out. By the time he gets back from the QS, it’ll be about as useful as a giant paperweight. 

Then again, if cars were animate objects, his would love Deran. The stupid thing had always behaved better for him than it did for Adrian, which felt a little like betrayal, given that Deran always ragged on it.

“Yeah. I think he left.” 

Adrian barely catches that as he turns out of his street and has to think about it for a moment. The conclusion he comes to isn’t a pretty one, and he has to suck in a few deep breaths before he speaks again. “Deran, who left?” 

Deran lets out a shuddering breath. “Dude from the bar.” 

“Which dude?” _Please let it be someone they know._ Someone who wouldn’t do … that, to Deran. The idea of it makes Adrian want to puke. _Please let them just have left him out there because he was being a dick._

“Dunno. Sam, I think?” 

Adrian is pretty sure the only Sam they know that goes by his given name now lives in England. “Okay. Did Sam hurt you, Deran? You sound kinda fucked up.” 

Driving with his ear to his phone isn’t easy, nor is listening for every little noise Deran makes, but he can’t stop long enough to hook up to the Bluetooth system. 

This time, it’s so quiet on the other end that Adrian chances taking his eyes off the road and checking if Deran’s still there. The call is still connected, but if he’s breathing it’s too light for him to pick up over the engine.

“Deran? Did he hurt you?” He asks gently. If he’s right, this is waaay into unchartered territory for them, leaving Adrian floundering for the next step to take, unsure if he’s going to make things worse. 

“Yeah. I … yeah.” Deran’s sob comes through like he’s sitting next to Adrian, and it turns into a steady stream of them, heart wrenching and miserable. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” Adrian hates hearing Deran cry. The poor guy always sounds likes his heart’s being ripped out, and it never fails to make Adrian want to tear apart whatever’s causing it. “It’s alright. How bad is it?”

“Not. Not too bad.” 

“You gonna need an ambulance?” Jesus, Adrian hopes not. 

He thinks Deran hums something that means ‘no’, but it’s nearly drowned out by the sniffling and tiny gasping breaths.

Shit. Adrian's seen Deran with literal broken bones before, and he's always been able to say that he's fine with no problems. “Deran, are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just get here. Please?” His distress is so thick it’s almost coming through the phone, nearly choking Adrian. It’s not like he wouldn’t come for him, even if he was heading to Huntington in an hour. Even if this phone call was a year ago, before they’d started talking again, even if Adrian hadn’t opened that door for them to start over, he’d still be doing it. 

“I’m on my way, man. Give me like,” Adrian checks the dashboard clock and tries to figure out how long he’s been driving. With the way he's breaking the speed limit, it’s knocked off some time. “Five minutes?” 

“Yeah.” Deran pauses for a moment. “My phone’s dying.”

Adrian curses under his breath. “Alright, can you hang up for me? Try and keep it alive til I get there, in case I can’t find you straight away.”

Deran sniffles. “‘Kay.”

“I’ll see you soon, Deran, just stay there and I’ll find you.” Wherever he is, Adrian will figure it out.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

Adrian doesn’t even get a chance to try and say anything else before there’s a click in his ear. He groans and scrubs his hand over his eyes, trying to will away the exhaustion and stress. 

It’s been nearly a year since they broke up, and it’s been pretty obvious recently that he never moved on from Deran, and apparently Deran hasn't moved on from him, either. Or Adrian wouldn’t still be on his list of people he calls when he needs help - and Adrian is so very glad of that. 

He’s just grateful he hadn’t decided to leave as early as some of the guys he knows, or he’d have been gone yesterday instead. The mental image of Deran alone and hurt and confused, trying to call for help and not able to get hold of anyone makes Adrian shudder.


	2. Chapter 2

***

It’s the longest five minutes of Adrian’s life. He nearly drives past the arcade building, grumbling about developers tearing buildings down and putting signs up everywhere so he can’t find it. 

When he pulls into the parking lot, Deran is easy to find in the spill of the headlights. He's slumped awkwardly so that his upper body is resting against the main door and his legs are tucked in front of him, his head drooping down onto his chest. It doesn't escape Adrian's notice that it's a position designed to take the weight off his ass, and between that and the sheer amount of blood on his face, he has to sit for a moment while he gets his anger back under control.

Nobody seems to remember it, but there was more than a mutual love of surfing that dragged them together nearly fifteen years ago. Deran might be the one with a reputation for violence now, but Adrian was right next to him in detention most of the time. The only differences between them was that his family didn’t actively encourage him being an asshole, and that Adrian eventually channeled his bullshit into more productive places as he grew up. The last time he took that anger out on somebody was back in Belize, and the fight was well-deserved. 

But now, with Deran bloody and shaking and hurt, Adrian feels that old rush of _want,_ the desire to rip whoever did this to pieces so strong it nearly takes his breath away.

He climbs out of the car, trying not to run in case he startles Deran. He hasn’t even lifted his head yet, and Adrian wonders if getting him off the phone was a good idea. The only thing that tells him he’s actually alive is the painful, labored breaths tumbling out of him, one after the other. Adrian winces - that sounds suspiciously like broken ribs to him. 

“Deran?”

He drops to a crouch only inches away from him, close enough their knees could touch if Adrian moves. “You with me, man?”

Deran’s head jerks back, and under the bright lights, all Adrian can catch is pale skin, big blue eyes, and a frankly terrifying amount of blood that stems from a cut on his temple and a split bottom lip. He blinks, wild-eyed and tense enough to crack into a million pieces, before the fear turns to confusion, his eyebrows furrowing in while he squints back at him.

“Adrian? What’re you doing here?” He still sounds absolutely shitfaced in a way Deran very rarely gets.

Adrian’s heart sinks. He’d kind of hoped Deran might have sobered up a little by the time he got there. “I came to get you. You called me, remember?” He gestures to the phone still clutched tightly in Deran’s left hand. 

Deran stares down at it like he's got no idea what it is, then nods. “Oh. Yeah, right.”

Adrian’s glad he’s gotten stronger over the last few years. If he was as skinny now as he was when they first started seeing one another, he’d have ended up flat on his back with Deran on top of him, his coordination shot to hell when he attempts to launch himself at Adrian.

Instead, he just grunts with the effort it takes to keep them both upright and turns whatever Deran was attempting into an actual hug, Deran pulled between his legs and up against his chest with his head tucked into Adrian’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ. What did you take, I’ve never seen you like this.” 

Deran’s answering murmur is barely understandable, too slurred and soft until suddenly it isn’t. “... Something in my drink.” 

It takes a minute for that to sink into Adrian’s head, and when it does, he has to just sit and breathe for a minute, his nose pressing into Deran’s hair - because even if he stinks of blood and dirt, sweat and beer and puke, the saltwater he carries with him everywhere never fails to calm Adrian down. 

When his brain comes back online, he sighs. “I’m guessing the answer is no, but do you want to go and get checked out?”

Just because he’d already anticipated Deran shaking his head, it doesn’t make it any less disappointing when he does it. “Yeah, alright. What do you want to do, then, man?”

“Can I use your shower?” Deran sounds a little clearer-headed, but he’s soft spoken and hesitant, like asking for that is gonna be what pushes them over the line into forbidden territory again, and Adrian smiles reassuringly down at him. 

“Yeah, of course.” He strokes down Deran's back and over his ribs, not just for comfort but to feel for damage. He doesn’t get any reaction until he hits the bottom left-hand side and Deran flinches away.

“Broken?” He hopes not, for Deran’s sake, because he _will_ be dragging his uncooperative ass to hospital if there’s any chance of internal damage. 

“Bruised.” Deran makes to stand, seeming to figure out that the next questions are going to be about what else has been done to him. It leaves him having to cling unsteadily to Adrian’s shoulders when his legs refuse to do what he tells them to.

Adrian sighs in defeat. It’s Deran’s choice if he doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’ll figure out everything eventually. “Okay, I get the hint. Wanna go home?” 

Deran nods, and this time lets Adrian do the work of getting them both sort of vertical. He tries to minimize the hurt he has to cause Deran as much as possible, but it still feels like someone’s stomped on his chest to hear Deran whimper and groan through the pain being on his feet brings.

It doesn’t help that he’s so quiet about it, his teeth gritted so hard that Adrian can feel the tension where his hand is wrapped around the back of his neck, every muscle in his body turned to stone in an attempt to keep the noises down. Adrian shifts so he can get his other hand moved down a little lower so that he isn’t interfering with his ribs, but high enough that he doesn’t touch Deran’s hips again - the shocked gasp that had been forced out of Deran when he brushed over them doesn’t need to be repeated. 

Adrian doesn’t even want to know what’s going on under his shorts to make him sound like that. The blood from his face has dripped down to stain both of his shirts, as well as the front of his pants, but it’s not enough to hide that his zipper is broken and that they’re barely staying up under their own power. 

On the plus side, other than some scraped skin that seems to be it for obvious injuries.

When he shifts to get their combined weights more balanced, Deran’s hands clench so tightly at Adrian's shoulder and waist for a moment that Adrian is sure to have bruises later. When he notices how hard he’s holding on, he jerks back, until he’s just got his hands resting lightly over Adrian’s clothes.

“It’s okay.” It’s not, but not for the reasons Deran’s currently freaking out about. Adrian never cared about the odd bruise he got from being with him - having the living shit kicked out of him was a different matter, but the marks were usually pleasant reminders that he wasn’t insane and there was really something there, that what they had wasn’t just a crazy fever-dream of Adrian’s. These ones won’t be fun to look back at, but they don’t worry Adrian. Even though Deran lurches away from him and towards the car, he brings him back, makes him stand still until he’s gotten his bearings back. “You’re alright, man. It’s okay.”

Deran shakes his head, but he still clings to Adrian wherever he can reach and shoves his head against his cheek like a giant cat, managing to smother whatever he was going to say into his neck. It sounds suspiciously like an apology, so Adrian is glad he didn’t have to hear it and smack some sense into Deran for saying it in the first place. 

They stay like that for a while, with Deran breathing unevenly and Adrian crooning nonsense into his hair, until eventually Deran seems to be able to both stand up and get air into his lungs somewhat reliably. 

Walking is actually more difficult than standing - the further they go the more Adrian ends up supporting more of Deran’s weight, and every tiny, wobbling step is accompanied by a gut-punched whine. 

If he hadn’t already figured out what went down tonight, just seeing Deran walk would have clued him in. He’s moving stiff and slow like an old man, and even with his ribs giving him grief, Adrian can tell it’s taking everything he’s got to stop himself curling up in a ball.

“Nearly there, man.” He whispers encouragingly when it looks like Deran is about to fall, cold sweat soaking through his clothes to dampen Adrian’s hand on his side. “You’re doing really well.”

He is - he’s trying so hard to stay upright that he’s shaking with it, and the twelve feet or so to the car was slow going, but they’re at the passenger side door now, and he’s proud of Deran for even doing as much as he has. He wouldn't have blamed him at all if he'd just given up and let Adrian carry him.

“Back seat or passenger?” The back seat would be better - at least Deran could lie down. But he’s not really surprised when Deran murmurs, “Passenger?” 

Like Adrian would say no. They’ve always been next to one another when they drive. Even when Adrian nearly broke his ankle at a tournament when they were seventeen, he still sat beside Deran on the drive back to Oceanside even though it would have been far more comfortable in the back.

Adrian kind of wants to say something about that, about how no matter what he'd always wanted Deran by his side.

“I think you live to make life harder for yourself,” is what he actually says, but he’s gentle with it and Deran melts closer.

Getting into the car is worse than everything before it. Deran is willing enough, moving where Adrian’s hands shift him to, but when he falls heavily into the seat, the noise that’s punched out of him is nothing short of horrific and he drops into a tight ball of misery as soon as Adrian’s hands are off him.

“Christ.” Adrian comes in close again, tugs Deran up until he’s sort of upright and their foreheads are pressed together. He’s stiff as a board and shuddering, one hand low down on his belly and pressing hard and the other clenched in the fabric of his shorts. From where Adrian stands, he can watch every single twitch of his hands, how Deran seems to want to claw at himself to make whatever it is stop, and when he starts to, Adrian pushes gently at the hand on his stomach. “Don’t, man, don’t. That’ll just make it worse.” 

Deran whines and his eyes roll like a spooked horse, flicking over Adrian in the dull interior light to the outside world and back again like he can’t settle on one thing. He hasn’t taken a proper breath since he hit the seat, and Adrian tries to calm him down again, stroking his hands over every bit of him that he can find that isn’t bruised or bloody while he murmurs to him. 

“Ssh. Come on, D, you can do it. Just breathe.” 

That gets him a strangled moan and Deran’s right hand scrabbling at Adrian’s side until he’s gotten a hold on his hoodie and clings to it hard enough that Adrian is almost afraid he's going to tear the fabric. The blood on his face is tacky where it touches Adrian, sticking to Deran's lashes and making his teeth appear so very white when he snarls wordlessly through whatever’s going on inside him to make it hurt so much. 

“Breathe, sweetheart.” Adrian barely notices the pet name slipping out, the one he only used when Deran so rarely let himself be fucked, but it works as well now as it did then. Deran manages to suck in a rattling, shuddering gasp, followed by another and another. “That’s it. Keep going, you’re alright.”

He coaxes him into working up to slow, shallow breaths, until all the pain seems to drain out of him in a rush and the tension floats away. It leaves Deran almost limp in his arms, head tilting down to rest on his shoulder, and Adrian keeps talking him through it while trying to subtly get him sitting comfortably yet in a way that’s less likely to have him falling out of the car.

It sort of works - he has to do the seat belt up to keep him in place, but Deran is eventually encouraged into a position that isn't actively hurting him.

“There you go. You’re so good for me, man. What happened, huh?” He doesn’t really expect an answer, it’s more that he’s letting whatever he thinks just spill out without stopping it. And it works - the more he praises him, the more air Deran seems to be able to get in, so Adrian keeps doing it. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going for me.”

He's still shaking like a leaf, but his eyes are half-closed and he’s wearing a tiny relieved smile, the lines of pain gone from his face. It's a nice thing to see, but Deran's reaction to just having to put weight on his ass was frankly terrifying, and Adrian isn't sure taking him home is the best choice.

He shakes at Deran's limp arm, trying to get his focus back. “Hey, you with me?” 

Deran blinks up at him, big eyes dazed but he at least seems to be on the same planet.

“I know you don't want to, and I get it, but if you need to get someone to look you over, it's okay.” 

Deran shakes his head, his cheeks flushed. “I’m fine.” 

Uh huh. Adrian calls bullshit, but he also knows better than to just haul Deran to the hospital without his consent. All that hard-won ground between them will be thrown away, along with any trust Deran has in him. “If it gets worse, you tell me, okay?”

“Yeah.” 

Alright, he likes this pliant and mostly-agreeable Deran. It’s probably mostly the drugs, admittedly, but he's been like it every time they've seen each other since Deran got the bar.

He pushes Deran's hair back from his face, wincing when it catches in the dried blood and pulls at his skin. “Sorry.”

Deran barely even notices it, just tips his head easily into Adrian’s hand with a sigh and curls towards him again, his eyes closed. He’s fading, Adrian can tell - the walk and the hurt of sitting down have wrecked him. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t have to carry him into the house.

“Let’s get you home.”


	3. Chapter 3

***  
The drive back to his house is quiet. Adrian doesn’t bother switching the radio on, and Deran either fell asleep or passed out when they were only a block out from the arcade. The most Adrian gets out of him is the odd shuddered breath when he shifts, or Adrian accidentally takes a corner too hard.

It seems like the trip is simultaneously crazy short and ten times longer than it should be, and Adrian is relieved to see his driveway. Deran still doesn't wake up when the car’s turned off, or when Adrian gets around to his side and pops the door. 

He falters for a minute, unsure what path to take, but then he gives in and places his hand over Deran’s where it’s resting on his thigh. He jerks awake with a groan, what little relaxation that had crept into his body replaced with a wire-snapping tension before he winces. 

It takes him a good two seconds of staring at Adrian, and Adrian staring sadly back, before Deran figures out who’s got him and he slumps back into the seat with a relieved little sigh.

Adrian smiles at him, small and soft like every time he’s touched Deran since he found him, afraid to spook him by grabbing on too tightly. “Hey. Sorry, I didn’t want to just carry you in.” It would have been far easier, up until the point where Deran woke up and justifiably freaked the hell out. Deran nods, manages to unbuckle himself, and starts to tip into Adrian’s arms, already a few steps ahead of Adrian’s brain.

“Alright, man.” He takes his weight easily, even though he’s pretty sure Deran’s gained some more bulk in the last few months. It’s painful, Deran somehow stiffer than he’d been when Adrian had been trying to get him in the car in the first place but listing badly, nearly falling on his face when he slides out. He would have, if Adrian hadn’t been prepared and was already in position to hold him up, and instead he just yelps, high and shaky when his feet land oddly on the driveway.

“Slowly, Deran, Jesus.” He pulls him up gently, lets him get his feet back under him, and it’s like a mirror of fifteen minutes ago, Deran huffing unsteadily through the process of being vertical again. He gets through it quicker at least, with only a couple of clenched-jawed curses before he’s sort of standing, even if he’s having to cling to Adrian to stay upright.

“You good to go?” Adrian asks when Deran looks like he’s there, and Deran nods in agreement, already lurching towards the house. 

He’s wobbling badly, but the trip goes quickly, and although Adrian’s arms are aching with the strain of holding up over one hundred and forty pounds of muscled Deran, he gets them inside the door and heads towards the bathroom. Almost everything is packed, but he’s still got some stuff in there, and it won’t be hard to find some clothes that’ll fit Deran.

Adrian still has an entire box of things that actually _belong_ to Deran, but that’s packed in storage with most of his other stuff, and besides, he’s always enjoyed seeing Deran in his clothes. 

Deran’s silent at his side other than the odd sharp inhale when he moves wrong, shuffling steps heading for the bathroom even though Adrian hadn’t said anything about his half-formed mental plan. But he guesses the desire for a shower outweighs the polite Deran he's seen recently, the guy that seems so unsure on how to take a step together without Adrian initiating it.

The lights seem way too bright when he flicks them on, and Deran agrees if the way he groans and curls into Adrian's neck is anything to go off.

Adrian tries to take the sting out of it a little by nuzzling at his hair and rubbing his fingers in tiny circles over his waist, but he doesn't stop until he's got Deran at the toilet seat.

Damn it. He really, _really_ doesn't want to do this again. Adrian sighs. “Deran? Can you sit down for me?” 

Deran pulls his head away from Adrian’s collar like it’s the hardest thing in the world to do, blinks down and figures out what Adrian means, and then glares at him like he’s just told him to go kiss one of his brothers. It’s not funny, not really, but it lightens the heavy mood enough that Adrian can poke his tongue out.

“C’mon. You can handle this one more time.” 

It’s better this time - now that he knows what to expect, Adrian can hold more of Deran’s weight so that he doesn’t fall so heavily and knock his ribs or whatever the hell else is going on under his clothes. They manage to get through it with one tiny, punched-out groan and a nearly-silent curse from Deran, and a few noisier ones from Adrian, but Deran still looks like he wants to curl up and cry once he’s sitting.

Adrian is so very far out of his depth here. Sure, they’ve both looked after one another before, but that was minor stuff - broken bones, bruises, cuts, lying to the cops or Smurf or Adrian’s dad. Being Deran’s emotional punching bag.

This is huge, and it’s like every step Adrian takes has the potential to land them both in a pit of alligators. He leans over and cranks the shower to something that should be the right temperature, then kneels at Deran’s feet. Even with the bathmat under his knees, it still takes him back to when him being a position like this was something that happened every other day. 

Well, other than Deran being so wrecked. If Adrian ignores that part, he can probably get through this, especially while Deran’s wearing that shy smile, like he’s thinking the same thing. His eyes are clearer in the light now, his pupils heading back towards normal so that they aren’t swallowing the blue anymore, and the color’s starting to come back to his cheeks. It’s a far better look for him than ‘drugged out of his skull and half-dead’, at least, but he’s still shivering in the steadily warming bathroom.

He eyes Deran’s shirts critically - the outer one is a short-sleeved button-up and seems alright other than being filthy, but the long-sleeved shirt under it is pretty much wrecked. It looks fairly old to start with - Adrian actually thinks he remembers it being a hand-me-down from Pope that Deran got back when they were teenagers, the print on the front worn out to a shadow and the color turned to a dull blue - but some of the wear holes with have been torn into one large one at the side, and even without that, getting the blood out would likely destroy it.

Adrian slips his fingertips through the hole, inadvertently brushing them against Deran’s belly and making him twitch. “Do you have any particular attachment to this thing or can I cut it off you?”

Deran shrugs. “Whatever works.” He’s still running at about half the volume he normally would be, but he sounds less like he’s been gargling rocks at least.

“Knife it is.” Adrian digs around in his pocket and pulls out the little folding knife triumphantly, grinning at Deran when he raises the eyebrow not stuck in place with dried blood. “I wasn’t too sure what you were calling me for, and it was better than nothing with all my stuff packed.” 

The blade isn’t even the length of Adrian’s index finger, but he keeps all his knives razor-sharp, so it slices through the front of the shirt easily, and Adrian just tugs it off along with the checked overshirt to dump to the side.

He refuses to look at the damage that’s been done to Deran’s upper body just yet - he’s already guessed it’s not going to be pretty, and he needs to finish what he’s doing _before_ he has a freak out. “What do you want to do with these?” Is what he asks instead, stroking over the faded denim of Deran’s ruined shorts and glancing up at him.

Huh. Apparently Deran has been staring at him the whole time, wearing the smallest dopey grin Adrian has seen on his face since the second night in Belize. Adrian feels his cheeks flush, and he ducks his head, hoping the fact that he’s still crazy for this idiot isn’t written all over his face.

He isn’t ready for that conversation just yet. 

“Give me a hand?” Deran actually waits for him to nod this time, miracle of miracles, and once Adrian is steadying him he lifts his hips just a little and starts to wriggle out of both his shorts and his underwear. 

Adrian sees the marks and the dried blood, but only as a passing blur while he’s making sure Deran doesn’t take a header onto the tiles getting his pants off. It’s only once he’s gotten naked and Adrian’s thrown his pants across the room that he really _sees_ Deran, and the damage that’s been done to him. 

The blood is the least of his concerns - head injuries always bleed like crazy. No, it's the fingerprint bruises on his wrists and upper arms, his thighs, his hips, and the boot print near his belly button. It's the scraped skin on his face, his palms, his knees, and the way Deran hunches down like he's doing something wrong just by being here, looking small and miserable and horribly ashamed.

And Adrian can't bear looking at it anymore. He shakes his head in the hope of clearing it, of knocking back the sickness and hurt and sheer fucking _rage_ that's flooding him, and when that doesn't work, he grits his teeth. “Are you okay here for a minute? I need,” He gulps back the sudden nausea that rises in his throat. “I need some air. Sorry, man.”

When Deran nods, somehow looking even smaller and sadder, Adrian can't get up and out of the bathroom quickly enough, the door banging shut behind him. 

He heads for the front door at first, then changes path and goes for the wide window next to it and sucks in as much fresh, cool air as he can in an attempt to settle - he doesn't want to leave Deran, but he needs this, just for now, because the other option involves Adrian committing murder.

The problem is, the air isn't stopping him from wanting to punch holes in the wall and tear the world to pieces on Deran’s behalf, even if he’s sure Deran’s anger at the situation will be coming soon enough. To see the evidence on Deran’s body of what that asshole _did_ to him is both sickening and rage-inducing, to know that someone drugged him and forced him into having sex, to the point of hurting him so badly.

Sure, Deran is violent, pretty much emotionally inept and has the weirdest, most fucked up family Adrian has ever met. But he's kind in his own way and eager to please when it matters, and goofy and shy, and athletic and gorgeous and smart. How anybody could do something like that to him is beyond Adrian.

The gravity of the entire messed up situation hits Adrian then, shortly followed by just how idiotic it was to leave a vulnerable Deran alone in his bathroom, to not smother back his own feelings so he could stay at Deran's side and look after him. To be so mad that he wasn't even able to say what the hell was wrong, and just walk away as though Deran was the problem.

Shit. Adrian’s screwed up pretty badly here, and the wave of guilt drowns out the anger. He gets in another deep, settling breath, walks back down the hall and knocks at the bathroom door, and is a little surprised when Deran opens it wrapped in Adrian's towel.

He’s sweating and looks like someone's stomped on him, the heartbreak on his face dragging Adrian back to that night when he pushed Deran away, and Adrian has to swallow down the lump in his throat.

“Can I come in?” Is what he asks tentatively, instead of apologizing straight off the bat.

He's kind of expecting Deran to spit something at him in return, to tell him to fuck off, and Adrian would be fine with it if he does. But Deran nods, and when Adrian opens his arms and tips his head in question, he falls away from the wall and into the hug like he can't bear the thought of them being apart. Or like standing is hell on him, and he was going to fall over if he didn’t come to Adrian.

Whatever the reason Deran is in his arms, Adrian holds onto him just as tightly, pressing his lips to the side of his head and closing his eyes. “I'm sorry, that was really shitty of me.”

Deran shrugs as much as he can, given that Adrian isn’t letting go of him, nor is Deran loosening his own grip. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No.” Adrian pulls back just enough to look Deran in the eye, sliding his hand up to the back of his head and tangling his fingers in his hair. He doesn’t want to hurt him, just to keep his attention because Deran’s only just able to track him as it is. “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have done that, man. This isn’t your fault, and just because I’m pissed at them doesn’t mean I should have bailed on you.”

Deran’s eyes skitter over his face, then settle around his chin somewhere. “It’s _fine._ Jesus, it was my own fault this happened anyway.” He shakes his head as much as Adrian will allow, which isn’t much. 

Adrian is kind of glad whatever he’d taken has worn off enough that he can get a full sentence together clearly, but the rest of him is drowning in hurt for Deran. He can feel that anger again, but it’s got nowhere to go - he’s not going to yell at Deran, and he kind of looks like he needs Adrian here, not running off like an idiot.

So he just pulls Deran in again and holds on as tight as he can for as long as he can until Deran starts to shake, either so overwhelmed or so exhausted that standing for so long is killing him. Adrian is going to guess both, and he really needs to get Deran into the shower before he drops.

“Come on, man. Shower’s still running.” Adrian’s so glad for the water heater in this place. The house itself is a piece of shit, but he’s never run out of hot water before and he’s had literal hour-long showers. Deran knows it too, that they’re not at risk of freezing their asses off, but he pulls himself away from Adrian long enough to get balanced at his side, and he lets Adrian hold him steady for the still-wobbly walk back through the bathroom.

He gets Deran under the spray and grins at the pleased groan that comes out of him. Dude always has liked his showers to run about as hot as they can without melting his skin off - Adrian long ago learnt not to get completely submerged at the same time as him in case he caught fire.

He’s content to stand there in case Deran needs him and try not to stare creepily while his ex washes the dried blood off his face and starts scrubbing shampoo into his hair, until Deran opens his eyes and glares at him. 

“Get in here, you weirdo.”

Adrian’s brain stutters over how fucking idiotic the idea is, getting into a shower with his recently raped ex who still manages to be gorgeous even while he looks like he’s been hit by a bus. Then he goes with it, but gets stuck on how dumb it is that he’s trying to figure out whether or not to keep his underwear on in front of a guy who has literally seen every inch of him, and by the time he’s realized that he’s an idiot, Adrian is already naked and climbing in next to Deran to hold him steady. Sure, he winces when the water hits him, but whatever. He’ll cope with second degree burns for Deran.

Deran turns his head under the spray to smile shyly at him, and any awkwardness is killed pretty quickly when Adrian realizes that from this angle, Deran kind of looks like a longhaired cat that fell in a bathtub - his hair is lank and dripping and his eyes stand out like crazy now that there’s only a little bit of blood around the cut that Deran’s avoided washing. He grins at the image and pulls Deran in close, the massive amounts of not-really-platonic nudity going on suddenly not such an issue when Deran doesn’t give a fuck about it.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Is what he’s pretty sure gets mumbled into his shoulder when Deran slings one arm over them and lets his head land heavily on top. “Never been scared of you, man.”

Oh. Adrian leaves that one alone and doesn’t say that he was kind of a bit scared of Deran before he got in here, but not in the way Deran would automatically think of with that guilty look on his face. Instead he tugs the soap over from the windowsill where he’s left it and lathers up his hand before rubbing it over Deran’s shoulders and down his back, listening to the pleased little moans when he hits a tight spot.

They didn’t do this much, only when they were too drunk or high to stay apart for the time it took to shower before they fucked again, but Adrian always loved it, and he’s pretty sure Deran did too. 

He certainly seems to be enjoying the impromptu sort-of massage if the way he’s melting is anything to go off.

While he works on his back, Deran’s pretty content to just let Adrian do it, but when his hands move along the small of his back to his side, he flinches. It’s not much, but it’s enough that Adrian pulls away with a choked-off breath, suddenly not sure where to put his hands that won’t make things worse. 

Deran rolls his eyes and hauls him back in. “It’s fine. You hit a bruise.” He taps at his side, an inch or two below his ribs. “Get back to it.”

Adrian raises his eyebrows at him, and when that doesn’t wipe the mock glare off Deran’s face, he snorts. “Oh, I see why you got me in here. So I could be your personal masseuse and body-washer, huh?” 

He notices Deran doesn’t argue, but Adrian will let him win this one, and he’s far gentler when he washes up over his ribs on both sides, then down his chest to the fucking huge bruise on his belly. Adrian has to close his eyes and just breathe for a second when he sees that one without all the dried blood on it.

There’s not really much he can say, but he tries to be as kind as he can with his hands, tries not to make Deran hurt when he hits a sore spot, and soon enough his upper body is about as clean as it’s gonna be. The problem is, that means everything south of the border needs to be done, and Adrian really doesn’t know how to handle that. From how tense Deran’s gone in his arms, neither does he.

“You wanna do this part yourself?” Adrian will, if Deran wants him to, and wouldn’t mind at all. He’s pretty sure Deran would do the same for him in return

Deran shudders against him, but he still nods and takes the soap, getting one of his hands lathered up while Adrian holds him steady.

The first ten seconds are bearable to watch - Deran’s able to get through it, but he's so tense he’s almost frozen in place, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips pulled down into a miserable grimace. It’s a shitty position as it is, and Deran looks like this is the last thing he wants to do, and Adrian doesn’t blame him - Deran never prepped himself the few times he wanted Adrian to fuck him, and he highly doubts Deran’s been doing anything since they split. This is like, the worst situation in the fucking world to be trying to be trying to get himself used to it.

But he’s not going to step in and take control, because now's not the time for Adrian to be in charge. This has to be Deran’s show. All he feels right doing is holding him up and stroking his hands up and down his back, his sides, settling him when he punches out a shuddering breath that sounds seriously painful and letting him cling to Adrian’s bicep like it’s a lifeline.

It all goes wrong in the space of a second, and Adrian doesn’t even know what set him off - Deran just goes from awkward and tense to shit-scared and shivering again, his breathing back to that terrified, rabbiting pace that it had been on the phone, and he curls unsteadily into Adrian like he’s the only thing that’ll make it all go away.

He doesn’t actually stop what he’s doing, though, and Adrian is pretty sure that’s part of the problem, Deran forcing himself to do this because, what, he thinks Adrian won’t? At this point, Adrian’s pretty sure he’d light himself on fire for Deran, if it made Deran just a little bit happier. 

Whatever’s making him keep going, Adrian can’t watch it anymore.

“Stop, D, stop.” He slides his hand down and gently tugs at Deran’s wrist, pulling him away from himself. He pushes past Deran’s quiet sob and gathers him in closer again, nuzzling at the spot behind his ear that’s never failed to make him melt.

It doesn’t work as well as it used to, and Adrian wasn’t expecting it to, but it does thaw Deran out a little so he isn’t a frozen-stiff block of misery in Adrian’s arms. His chest is still heaving with breaths that have to seriously hurt, and he’s shaking so badly his teeth clack together, so Adrian works them both back under the full strength of the spray and only flinches a little at the heat.

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” He won’t make Deran do anything that scares him this much, because he’s pretty sure this is more visceral terror than actual pain. “Would - Do you want me to do it, would that be easier?”

He didn't know it was possible, but Deran manages to get tenser for a couple of heartbreaking seconds before slumping against Adrian, rolling his forehead over Adrian’s collarbone before he settles his mouth over the bone and just … stops. It looks awkward as hell from where Adrian is staring down at the side of his head, but whatever. If that’s where Deran wants to be, Adrian isn’t going to stop him.

“You don’t have to.” It’s quiet and sad, but he thinks Deran might be a bit hopeful, too.

“Would it help?” 

Deran barely hesitates before nodding. Adrian swallows down his nerves and grabs the soap back from where Deran’s still got it clenched in one white-knuckled fist, getting one hand clean as possible before he lathers it up. 

He can do this, even if it feels like a violation when Deran’s so afraid. It needs to be done, and honestly, it’s probably better if Adrian does it - at least if there’s more blood than he’s comfortable with, he’ll know. Deran could be bleeding out and he’d be too embarrassed to ever say a word.

When the back of Adrian’s hand slides down his side, Deran starts to shiver like he’s been dropped in ice water and Adrian nuzzles at his neck, his hands too occupied to do anything better. “You’re okay. Tell me if you need to stop or anything.” 

Adrian really doesn’t want to keep going, but when Deran nods again, he pushes through the nausea that bubbles up and strokes the flat of his hand down over Deran’s flank, then smoothes it down over the curve of his ass. 

Deran nearly loses his footing on the tile when Adrian slides his fingertips over his crack, jerking himself away from Adrian’s hand, but into the rest of him, with his eyes as wide as saucers and his jaw set.

“Sorry,” he forces out, voice still shot to hell. 

“It’s okay.” Adrian gets more soap and goes slower this time, tries to telegraph every move he makes before he does it, and gets as far as his fingers stroking over Deran’s raw hole before he punches out a desperate, stuttering whine and jerks, every muscle tight enough to snap.

“Easy, sweetheart, easy.”

He pulls back, steps out of the spray and reels him in again with his free arm around his waist, hooking his chin over Deran’s shoulder, both to keep him in place and so he can see a little of what he’s doing. 

Deran pants and clings to him like a monkey, all long limbs and too-hot skin, like he’s trying to crawl inside Adrian and stay there. If it'd help, Adrian would let him. 

“Let’s try again, okay?” He waits for Deran to do something that at least resembles a nod, then starts over. He can tell how hard Deran's working to force himself to relax, and he's good, he’s so good, and Adrian hopes it comes across in his voice just how proud he is of him when he tells him that. “You’re doing so well for me, Deran, just a little more and you can get some sleep.”

Deran sniffles unhappily and keeps clutching at Adrian's skin, his hair, anything he can reach to ground himself, and Adrian really isn't surprised when he starts to cry, great heaving gasps tumbling out of him that shake his whole body. It still hurts like hell, though, and he can feel his own eyes burning in response. 

“Steady, sweetheart. Nearly there.”

He croons more nonsense into his ear while Deran keeps sobbing into his neck, frightened and in pain and probably overwhelmed by the entire experience, and tries to get back to clean skin and not the weird slick-stickiness that dried lube has.

On the plus side, when he pulls away there’s no blood that he can see on his fingers, so either Deran’s stopped bleeding or there wasn’t much to start with. 

Deran’s still crying near-silently though, just his hot tears burning into Adrian’s skin and the odd shuddering gasp, and Adrian doesn’t know what to do with that.

So he walks them both back until they’re completely under the water again, and just hugs him close, nuzzling at his neck, the back of his ear, the underside of his jaw, until Deran’s down just trying to shake himself apart, then pulls back enough to be able to look Adrian in the eye.

“Thanks.” The cut on Deran's temple has started to bleed sluggishly again, and he's blushing tomato-red down to his chest, but his eyes aren’t quite as dull, and that’s at least a minor improvement.

“It's all good. You'd do it for me.” Adrian doesn't doubt that for a second and he tries to smile back, but he thinks he fails, going off how ridiculously sad Deran suddenly looks. If he starts letting his guilt get the better of him now, Adrian's gonna smack him, trauma be damned. “If I kneel to do your legs, is that okay?”

Deran sucks on his bottom lip, eyes red and wet from more than the shower, but he nods in the end and even rests one hand softly on Adrian’s shoulder as he slides down.

Hard part’s over now. Adrian’s pretty sure things can only move up from here.


	4. Chapter 4

It takes him more than half an hour to get Deran clean and dry, get his most obvious injuries treated and get him into an old t shirt and a pair of cut off trackpants. By the time he’s settling under the covers in Adrian’s bed, Deran is barely awake, his eyes sliding shut every time Adrian doesn’t talk to him for more than thirty seconds. 

Adrian thinks he could do with professional medical care, but given that that isn't likely to be an option, he wishes he could do more than offer him painkillers and a halfway comfortable bed to sleep in. If this had been a week ago, he'd at least still have his ice packs in the freezer, but they, like almost everything other than his oversized first aid kit, are in storage as of yesterday. All he can do is what he's already done. So he plugs Deran’s completely dead phone into the charger, because of course he still has a charger that suits Deran’s phone, even though he has to have gone through a few between them splitting up and now, then perches on the edge of the mattress, not sure if him getting into bed with Deran is even welcomed, let alone a good idea. The couch is gone, but his sleeping bag is in the back of his car. It wouldn’t be hard to go out and get it to roll out on the floor beside his bed to keep watch on Deran for the rest of the night.

Deran lifts his head out of the pillow to glare half-heartedly at him. “Would you get in here? ‘S fucking cold without you.”

Well, alright then. Adrian shrugs at Deran’s raised eyebrow and works his way under the covers to settle on his back, with Deran on his side only a couple of inches away, so close they’re sharing the same pillow. 

It’s enough that they’re sharing some body heat, but Deran runs cold like a fucking lizard half the time, and apparently two inches is too far for him, because he wriggles down and closer then drops when he’s almost on top of Adrian, one leg thrown over him, his head on his chest and his upper body tucked into his side. 

“Is that better?” Adrian asks dryly, but he still slides one arm around him and pulls the blanket up until it’s just below Deran’s chin and uses his free hand to brush the damp hair away from Deran’s face. 

Deran nods into his chest and sighs contentedly, before he lifts his head to peer around the room. “Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?” 

“Today, actually.” Adrian can see what Deran’s looking at - there is a _lot_ of shit still scattered around the place, but it shouldn’t take him more than a couple hours to pack up the stuff he’s keeping, and another hour to tidy up. “I’m nearly done packing, most of this is just staying with the house for the next poor sucker who rents it.”

Deran nods then flops back down again, apparently satisfied with Adrian’s answer.

Adrian zones out a bit for a while, staring at the ceiling and keeps stroking his fingers through Deran’s hair, trying to get out the tangles that showering had introduced to it, and frankly just liking the feeling of Deran back in his arms. It’s under the shittiest circumstances, but he always liked being able to just chill with Deran, with no expectations or anger or hurt. 

Tomorrow’s going to suck badly, though. Deran’s going to be in pain, more embarrassed and probably an asshole about everything, and Adrian’s going to suck it up and cope with whatever is thrown his way, because Deran deserves it right now. 

Deran shifts with a wince when Adrian’s hand slides down over his shoulder, and he pulls away like he’s been burnt to peer down like he’d be able to see any damage in the semi-dark room. 

“You okay?” He asks cautiously. 

“Mm-hmm.” Deran shifts again until he’s lying more on his front but still manages to have as much of him as physically possible touching Adrian. “Ribs are all fucked up.” 

Ah. Adrian remembers how badly his had hurt for weeks after, how he hadn’t been able to sleep on his side or surf properly until they’d completely healed. “Do you want to lie down differently?”

Deran shakes his head, hair flicking over Adrian’s skin through his threadbare shirt. “Nah, got hit on the back, not my front. This works better.” 

Adrian has to close his eyes and breathe through the new knowledge, because that has to mean Deran was already down. Probably got kicked, not punched. 

Awesome. 

“It’s _fine.”_ Deran’s growl is considerably less threatening when he can’t drag his face out of Adrian’s chest, so he just flicks his ear gently. Can’t let him get away with lying like that.

“It’s really, really not. None of what happened to you tonight is fine, Deran.” Adrian sounds sad even to his own ears, and he’s not surprised when Deran tries to prop himself up enough to blink up at him. The little smile he’s wearing isn’t expected, though.

“Dunno. Kinda like this part.” His thumb rubs slow circles over the skin on Adrian’s side, right where the worst cracked rib was, and it soothes an ache he didn’t know he had. “The rest of it sucked, but I like being here, you know?”

Oh. Adrian swallows down the lump in his throat and doesn’t fight it when Deran crawls up to drop heavily onto the pillow so that he’s close enough Adrian can feel him breathing.

“Same here.” He could have managed something more articulate than that, normally, but fuck it, he’s exhausted and stupid with emotion, and he’s pretty sure Deran gets it.

He's half expecting it when Deran slowly leans in for a kiss, and he blocks it as kindly as he can with a hand on his cheek when Deran's all of three inches from his face. “No. Not yet, okay?” 

Deran's eyes go huge and sad, and he sucks his bottom lip in as he goes to push himself away. He doesn’t get far before Adrian pulls him back in. 

“Not because of tonight. And not never.” Adrian gets them settled with Deran’s leg swung over his hip and his ribs cushioned against Adrian’s chest, and tries not to smile at how fucking adorable Deran is when he goes cross-eyed to try and watch Adrian. “But you're hurt, and we've still got some talking to do before we go down this road again, okay?” 

Deran nods, still looking like Adrian has just taken surfing away from him for the next year. 

“When we wake up, we’ll talk, we’ll figure it out.” He hates that look, so he leans in to press a kiss on his forehead and wraps his arms around him tighter, staring at the wall. “I never stopped -” Adrian sighs. He wants to say that he loved Deran when they were fifteen and best friends, and he loved him when they were nineteen and having sex in the back of Adrian's old Jeep, and he loved him at twenty one when Deran went to prison, and he loved him last year when he beat the shit out of Adrian and nearly drowned an innocent man. And he just never stopped loving him, even when he’d rightfully kicked Deran out of his life. If it's possible, he loves him more now than he ever has before. But things aren’t right for a confession like that, not yet. “I never stopped wanting to be with you. We’ve just gotta get back to when it was good, okay?”

 

“Yeah.” It’s small, but hopeful enough, and Deran burrows into his neck like he wants to become part of Adrian. 

It’s ridiculously fucking cute, and Adrian gives in and presses another kiss to his temple. “Go to sleep, and we’ll figure everything else out when it’s actually daylight. It’s too late at night for this.”

Deran gets out an unintelligible little grumbly noise, but he does as he’s asked and settles, and it takes all of ten minutes of Adrian breathing steadily and stroking up and down his spine for him to fall asleep.

His job for now done, Adrian follows him easily.


	5. Chapter 5

Daylight doesn’t bring as much of a nightmare as Adrian was thinking it would. He was expecting a repeat of the guy who broke into his apartment - angry, embarrassed and just generally an asshole to cover up the fact that he has emotions just like everyone else, and honestly, Adrian wouldn’t have blamed Deran at all if that’s what it had turned out like.

But that Deran’s nowhere to be seen. Sure, he’s stiff and slow and weirdly quiet, but he smiles every time Adrian catches him looking at him and his hands are gentle whenever he has to touch Adrian - to take his hand to get out of bed without falling on his face, to move around him to get another cup out of the box of kitchen stuff Adrian’s keeping and has mostly packed, when Adrian helps him get dressed because he’s a liar and his ribs are likely cracked, not bruised so he can hardly lift his arms up without wincing.

It’s nice, even if there’s an undercurrent of dangerously deep water there, only a couple steps ahead and Adrian keeps worrying that he’s going to drop them both into it without knowing how to get them out again. Even ignoring what happened to Deran last night, Adrian knows they need to talk. If he leaves for the QS the way he is right now, he won’t stand a chance of winning anything because he’ll be too distracted thinking about what he’s left behind unfinished.

Deran knows it, too, Adrian can tell. Every time Adrian opens his mouth to speak, it’s obvious Deran’s waiting for him to bring any of it up, warily glancing at him until he figures out that Adrian is just as worried about breaking whatever this is as he is.

He just doesn’t want to ruin it, is all. Adrian likes this, regardless of how it's come about. He likes having his best friend back in his life and apparently, in his arms, because Deran doesn’t want to be more than an inch from his side at any given time. It’s almost like Belize again, especially given how much worse for wear Deran looks - the bruises are already starting to color up really nicely, and Deran spent half that trip bloody because he wouldn’t stop fighting with fucking _everyone_ over the dumbest shit.

But Deran doesn’t bring it up, and Adrian manages to keep his mouth closed, so things stay as they are while Deran helps him pack the rest of his stuff into his car and tidy up, because he’s ignoring his phone and shakes his head when Adrian asks if he wants a lift anywhere, but then smiles like he’d just been handed a million bucks when Adrian says he can stick around if he wants.

He also pointedly doesn’t mention what happened to him, and Adrian’s not stupid enough to miss how sitting down and walking are both painful as hell for him, but if Deran doesn’t want to say anything yet, then it’s his choice. 

It’s not until they take a break after lunch and end up draped over his poor old couch, Adrian sitting up against the arm reading a magazine that he’s going to throw out and Deran sprawled against his chest, presumably dozing, that Deran rolls his head back to stare at Adrian for long enough that it’s weird.

“What?” Adrian swipes at his face, wondering if he managed to wear something when he’d made them lunch. Deran just grins at him and leans harder against him so that his shoulder is digging into Adrian’s armpit, until he has to groan and push back or he’ll be bruised. “Jesus, you’re bony.”

Deran doesn’t take the opportunity to give him shit in return, which is bizarre for them, because even when things were good they’d never passed up an opportunity to tease each other mercilessly. He just keeps looking up at Adrian with a goofy little smile on his face, blue eyes shining bright between the shadows below them and the now-closed cut above, and Adrian feels like he’s missing an important piece of the puzzle here.

“What?” He asks again, careful this time because he has no idea what’s going on in Deran’s head, but the fact that he’s smiling could mean all sorts of things. Not all of them are good, because Deran might be a changed man, but he’s still very capable of being a dick.

Deran just shakes his head and chews on his bottom lip. “Just … happy to be around you again.”

Ah. Adrian’s heart stutters in his chest and he has no idea what his face is doing, but Deran is still smiling shyly at him, so it mustn’t be too bad. “Kind of expected you to avoid this talk, to be honest.”

Deran’s never been one for emotional conversations, or at least not sober ones. But this time he shrugs, then winces when it fires up all the hurt he’s got to have going on, and Adrian kind of wants to press pause on this and go get some more painkillers for him. The glare that gets sent his way stops him before he starts, though, and he submits to being Deran’s pillow for a while longer while they apparently talk.

“You started it last night, asshole. You said we’d talk later. Well, it’s later.”

Well, he’s not wrong there, and Adrian gives in. “I did.”

But he’s not sure what to say, so he’s glad when there’s only a heartbeat of awkward silence before Deran turns his face so that he’s talking more into Adrian’s chest than to his face. “What the fuck was with that kiss, man?” 

It’s whiny and a little exhausted, like Deran’s kept himself up thinking about it in the few nights since Adrian had impulsively leant in to kiss the guy he’s loved for so long, who’s done so well at making himself be something better, and Adrian gets it because it’s been in his head on a constant loop since he did it.

So he kisses the top of Deran’s head just to make him grumble good naturedly. “Because I like you. I like who you’re turning yourself into. And I’d like to try again with that guy.”

He can hear Deran swallow heavily, can feel him shiver once and curl into him more, and he’s a heavy fucker for someone so short but Adrian loves the weight of him. “Really?” He asks quietly, sounding almost amazed, and Adrian doesn’t get that at all.

“Of course.” Adrian strokes under Deran’s chin until his head tips back enough that Adrian can look him in the eye, trying to get as much honesty into his words as he can. “I never would have broken it off if you hadn’t gone off the rails so badly, Deran. I just …” He tries to find the right words for a moment, his mouth opening and closing twice before he can figure out what to say. “I couldn’t stay with you like that, you know?”

It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, shutting down Deran while he cried and begged for things to be okay again. But he couldn’t keep being with someone who was going to end up killing them both eventually. And from how Deran nods and somehow manages to shrink himself down, the shame Adrian had expected earlier coming on full-strength for a different reason, he gets it too.

“So you wanna try again?” His voice wavers at the start, and Adrian hates that so much he has to kiss him again, this time on the cheek. He’d like to do more, but, well … after last night, he kind of thinks it’d be best if he let Deran lead for a while when it comes to stuff like that.

“Yeah, man. Of course.”

Deran is the one to reach for him first, turning on top of him slow and careful, and Adrian knows where this is going, but unlike earlier in the dark, he’s ready for it. He supports Deran’s body with one hand and lets the other work its way up into his hair, pushing it away from his face and holding it in a loose tail at the back of his head. Deran gets one hand up to steady himself on the couch and the other clenches at Adrian’s side weakly, and he manages to look both determined and slightly, adorably terrified as he leans in.

The kiss is a shadow of their previous ones, more nervous than passionate, as if Deran is trying to figure out what he’s allowed to do now, and Adrian lets himself wonder if perhaps this is a little soon given what’s just happened to Deran.

It’s so much like their first kiss in the dark on a beach down south that Adrian almost gets whiplash, but he likes that Deran cares enough to worry about what he’s doing instead of just doing it and half-assing dealing with the consequences later.

It’s not until Deran’s teeth catch at his bottom lip, almost accidentally, that Adrian makes a tiny, pleased noise, and that apparently is what Deran needs to be able to go butter-soft and pliant in his arms, letting Adrian keep him upright while his hand roams across his shoulders, down his chest, then back up his neck and into his hair.

It’s _perfect._ The scruff Deran's got going on is just long and soft enough not to irritate Adrian's skin, he’s warm and having him in his arms like he is feels like Adrian’s come home. 

He kind of wishes this was happening _before_ he’d given up everything to try for the QS again, because now he doesn’t want to leave, and given how Deran is clinging to him, the feeling is mutual.

They only stop when they run out of air and Deran has to suck in a breath that leaves him frozen still and trembling, his face pale around the bruises, and Adrian thinks it’s entirely unfair that he can manage to be so fucking good-looking when he’s been beaten up. 

He hushes him when Deran tries to lean back in and tries to make sure he’s comfortable where he’s perched in Adrian’s lap. “It’s okay. We can continue this when you haven’t had your ass kicked.”

Deran wants to fight him on it, he can tell, but either the pain or common sense kick in and he slumps down heavier into Adrian’s lap. “Yeah, alright.”

It’s sulky, but he’s cute as hell so Adrian can’t stop himself leaning up for another slow, soft kiss, this one over much quicker than the last because Adrian makes sure he pays attention to Deran’s breathing, how it starts getting harsher when his ribs are aching, and that’s when he pulls away. “No, come on. We gotta stop before you get hurt worse.”

Deran rolls his eyes, but he also gives in, which is a good indication of how sore he is. His mouth opens once or twice, and he bites at his bottom lip before he manages to say whatever it is he wants to get out. 

“So what do we do from here?” It’s almost an exact mirror of what Deran had asked him when they’d first started going out nearly seven years ago, and Adrian thinks it’s still a good answer that he can give him now. 

“Well, I’m hoping I’ll be in Oceanside between some of the heats, and we can catch up then. And we figure out how far we wanna go when I stop.” Adrian holds out little hope of him getting enough sponsors that he’ll make it through the entire tournament, but he’s going to try. So given that he’s only got three months’ worth of cash to tide him over, it’ll hopefully be anywhere between that and a year before he’s home for good, if he doesn’t do well enough to go for the CT.

“Not gonna be chasing surfer dick while you’re competing?” His voice is sly, but Adrian can tell Deran’s worried, so he kisses him again to chase that away. Why would he want anyone else when Deran’s on offer?

“No, man. I’m willing to go without sex for a few months.” But he feels bad asking the same of Deran, and hey, Adrian can only benefit from the experience he can get. “But you’re welcome to keep playing around if you want.”

Deran shakes his head, eyes wide and body tense so quickly Adrian doesn’t even know what happened. “Nah. I’m good, thanks.” 

Ah. Adrian winces at how badly he’s just stuck his foot in it. “You wanna talk about that at all?”

“Nope.” 

Adrian shrugs, not willing to poke at a raw wound as long as it doesn’t fester like everything with Smurf did. “You ever want to, you know where I am.”

Deran nods and swallows, his throat clicking and his eyes downcast. “Guessing you gotta go soon, huh?”

Adrian glances at his phone and sighs. “Yeah, in half an hour or so.”

He doesn’t want to leave yet and seeing as he isn’t competing until Saturday, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his hotel room is booked and his landlord expects him out today, Adrian would be sticking around to shore up this thing with Deran until it’s solid. 

“Better give you a hand here, then.” Deran glances around the room with a cheeky, if subdued grin. 

“Oh, fuck you.” Adrian answers him mildly, because the mess has been contained to three duffle bags and a garbage bag that needs to be tied up. Other than that, it’s just furniture, and Adrian arranged for it to stay here. “I need like, fifteen minutes, then I can drop you at the bar?”

“Yeah, sure. If you have time.”

“Sure. It’s not like it’s out of the way.” 

“Cool, man.” Deran looks at him for a moment, like he wants to say something else, and Adrian can’t help himself staring back warily, because God only knows what could come out of Deran’s mouth after all that emotion. Instead, Deran leans in to kiss the side of his head. “Thanks, for all of this.”

“Any time, Deran. Anything you need, you know that.” Adrian turns his head and lets the kiss reach his lips this time, but makes it stay slow and soft. “But you’re right, I do have to finish up here, so how about you get your freeloading ass up and help me?”

Even though Deran groans dramatically, he knows he gets what Adrian’s trying to do here, trying to shake the uncertain mood that threatens to engulf things again.

So they drag their asses off the couch and start collecting the remains of Adrian’s life in this house, grabbing bits and pieces that he’d forgotten like his phone charger and throwing the sheets off the bed into the bag of dirty washing that Adrian is sure he’ll get around to washing before they get moldy. Deran mostly wanders around from room to room looking lost, like a ghost haunting Adrian’s old house that makes snarky comments every now and then, just because he can.

It’s so much like when Adrian had moved house from his parents’ place to here that it makes something in his chest ache in the best possible way.

Eventually, he ends up losing track of Deran while he’s doing a final check of the house, and he finds him standing in the kitchen scowling at his phone like he thinks he can light it on fire with his brain. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks warily. If it’s Smurf, then Adrian is happy to tell her to fuck off and save Deran the trouble.

“Huh?” Deran blinks up at him, then back down at his phone when Adrian dips his head towards it in answer. “Oh. Just Craig wondering why I’m not in the bar because he needs to get into the safe.”

“Did he ask why you called him last night?” Adrian can’t help being defensive of Deran - it’s second nature after so long. Even that first night at the bar, when he’d turned up not knowing Deran would be there, not knowing Deran _owned_ it, when he hadn’t known just how much he’d changed of himself, he’d still had to hold himself back from yelling at Smurf for what she did to him. And Craig may be Deran’s coolest brother, and one of Adrian’s friends, but he’s still fucking selfish.

Deran shakes his head, looking less pissed and more hurt, and Adrian clenches his fists hard enough to dig his nails into his palms, trying to will away some of his own fury while he stares at his kitchen bench. It takes him a good five seconds to be able to speak. “You do realize you have a family of totally self-absorbed assholes, right?”

Deran’s snort has him looking up. 

“Dude. _I’m_ a self-absorbed asshole. It’s a Cody family requirement.” 

Adrian shrugs. “Yeah, but you’re my self-absorbed asshole, and you’re like, fifty steps up from the rest of them. And I don’t have to be okay with it when they do that shit to you.” 

Deran moves stiffly when he makes his way around the bench to press up against Adrian’s side, but he’s warm and his head feels right resting against Adrian’s back, warm breath brushing against his neck and making his skin prickle. 

They stand there like that for a solid two minutes, just keeping each other steady, and it’s only broken by Deran’s phone buzzing insistently, Craig’s name lit up on the screen.

Adrian’s tempted to pick it up and throw it, or answer and give Craig a piece of his mind, but he’s headed off by Deran groaning quietly and reaching for it.

“What?” Deran demands, short-tempered and surly with Craig, but his hand on Adrian’s waist is gentle and warm.

He listens while Craig demands Deran’s return to the bar so he can get into the safe, his staff are wondering where the hell he is and essentially giving Deran an extreme amount of shit for a guy who got a missed call off his baby brother at three AM and hasn’t heard from him since. Deran just stands there and takes it, quiet and angry and sad all at once.

Adrian strokes his fingers through his hair and down his spine, and wonders whether he could be stealthy enough to smack Craig on the back of the head with a surfboard the next time he sees him. It might knock some sense into him, or it might just knock him out. At this point, Adrian will take either one.

“Yeah, fine, I’ll be there soon.” Deran hangs up on Craig without waiting for an answer and drops his phone to the bench and his head onto his chest. “I hate my fucking family.”

“I’m not very fond of them either, I gotta say.” But you can’t pick your blood, which is something that irritates Adrian on a daily basis. “You want me to take you over now?”

Deran shrugs, looking nervous even though they’d arranged this part earlier. “If you’ve got time, yeah. That’d be great.”

“Any time, man.” Adrian says mildly, pulling Deran closer to press a kiss to his cheek just to watch Deran scrunch up his nose and squirm like he doesn’t love it. “I think I’ve got everything anyway, so I might as well leave now and take all my shit to Chad’s on my way out of town.”

Deran nods, looking thoroughly downtrodden, and Adrian wants to say something, _anything_ to make it better. But then Deran must move wrong, or just breathe wrong, because he stiffens up and winces, hands gripping so tightly to the bench that his knuckles turn white.

Shit. 

“Deran?” Adrian asks, his grip on Deran’s shoulder tightening when he doesn’t answer. “Deran, what’s wrong?”

All Deran can do apparently is shake his head tightly and lean into Adrian’s side with his eyes clenched tightly shut, and Adrian honestly feels sick. He knew he should have dragged him straight to hospital when he’d found him, no matter what Deran’s opinion is on doctors in general. 

“Deran, you gotta talk to me, man, I need to know what’s going on.” Is what he says instead of the stream of panicked garbage that wants to come out. 

“I’m fine.” Deran gets out between gritted teeth, and the laugh that comes out of Adrian is strangled and completely humorless. 

“Hate to break it to you, but this is like, the textbook definition of ‘not fine’.” This could be a sign that that asshole did more damage to Deran than he’d originally thought when he cleaned him up. Adrian’s medical knowledge is relatively limited, sure, but he can safely say that someone shouldn’t be in this much pain just from moving wrong, and he feels useless just standing here when he could at least be getting Deran some help. 

Deran lets out a shuddering sigh, and just like when he’d first gotten him into the car, once he’s started breathing again all the tension flows out of him in the space of twenty seconds. “It’s just where I got kicked.” He motions to where the epic bruise on his stomach is with a shaking hand. “I’ll be pissing blood for a bit, but it’s _fine._ ”

Adrian is sick of hearing that word, and he stares at Deran’s stomach in the vague hopes that he’ll be able to see through his clothes to the damage that bruise has to be covering.

“C’mon, man, you know I’ve dealt with this before.” Deran tries smiling at him, and Adrian appreciates the effort, but he can’t shake how worried he feels. “It’s alright.”

Adrian swallows back how badly it hurts to know firsthand that yes, Deran’s dealt with internal injuries before. Ones that he couldn’t go to a doctor for then, either, because they’d figure out what he’d been doing at the time and he’d get arrested.

Honestly, he mostly trusts Deran’s self-diagnosis of that part. But Deran had never been overly keen on being fucked, so Adrian thinks it’s fair that he’s erring on the side of caution with how much damage could have been caused by that, damage Deran doesn't know about because he's never dealt with anything like it before.

“Yeah, you’ve dealt with some of this before,” he says, trying to ignore how quiet and shaky his voice is. “But not all of it. Am I right?”

See, Adrian knows how rough even consensual sex can get. How sometimes when Deran finished, Adrian wouldn’t be able to walk or move right for a few days after, how everything ached and burnt and left him off-balance. And that was sex he’d _wanted._ Not once had Deran ever done anything in bed that Adrian wasn’t cool with, anything that he hadn’t agreed to at least somewhere during it. Not once had they finished and left him badly hurt. Sure, he’d be sore and usually alone, but he was always keen enough for the next time.

What happened last night isn’t something Deran had asked for or even wanted, and although Adrian hasn’t dealt with that aspect personally, he can only imagine how sore Deran could be, how much damage could have been done to him.

“Jesus.” Deran must see something on his face because he turns, quick as a flash of lightning, and ends up against Adrian’s chest, one hand cupping his jaw. “Did someone -?”

His eyes are fucking _huge,_ and it takes Adrian a second to catch up to where Deran’s crazy mind has gone, and oh, shit. He shakes his head just hard enough to get the message through without shaking Deran’s hands off him. 

“No. Fuck, no, Deran. Never.”

“Not even me?” He asks cautiously, eyes flicking down Adrian’s chest like he’d somehow be able to see damage he potentially did over a year ago. 

Adrian fights the urge to roll his eyes, and instead turns his head to press a kiss to the palm of Deran’s hand.

“No. Never, man.” 

“I was pretty rough on you sometimes.” Deran’s throat moves as he swallows, looking endlessly guilty. “Too many times.”

Adrian shrugs and hugs Deran close to him so their foreheads are pressed together, trying to settle the fit of nervousness he’s got going on. “Yeah, but I didn’t ever want you to stop something we did in bed. Other shit, sure. But since when did I keep my mouth shut if I wasn’t happy?”

Deran chews at his bottom lip, eyes too bright and it’s pretty fucking obvious he doubts every word out of Adrian’s mouth. Although he likes his new version of Deran that’s apparently got a conscience, Adrian thinks it’s entirely misplaced here. 

“Trust me, okay?” Adrian kisses him gently, just long enough to leave Deran’s lips blushing. “You never did anything in bed I didn’t want you to do.”

“‘Kay.” It’s too soft, Deran’s voice cracking midway, but he folds easily and wraps his arms just as tightly around Adrian in return. 

The world around them is quiet for a while after that, both of them having said what they need to for now and the all the rest of it is okay to let go of for now. But eventually, Adrian can feel how Deran is swaying in place, too sore and tired to stay upright for so long even though he’s spent half the day asleep, and he figures now is as good a time as any to get going.

“Come on. I gotta get you back to your bar before Craig comes looking for you instead.” He says it into Deran’s hair and softens it with a kiss, just so Deran knows he isn’t trying to chase him away, but honestly, they both do need to get this over with. 

Deran apparently feels the same way from how he nods and pulls away to grab his phone, but it doesn’t make Adrian feel any better that this is coming to a temporary end.

***

The drive is quiet, but it’s mostly comfortable, just the radio playing softly in the background and Deran dozing against the window, all loose-limbed gorgeousness, and Adrian forgets that he’s supposed to be the one in control of the car more than once because he’s too busy watching Deran appreciatively. He catches every wince, every stiff movement, the way his brows crinkle and his fists clench when Adrian takes the corner out of his street wrong. He still wonders every time if they should be making a stop at the hospital, Deran’s insistence, his own schedule and Craig’s dire need at the bar be damned. 

But he also watches how Deran’s thick and exceptionally pretty eyelashes flutter against his skin when he moves, how he looks wearing Adrian’s hoodie and tank top and a pair of his own shorts that ended up in Adrian’s wardrobe a good five years ago, (and he’s tempted to ask for them back before they part ways, no matter how temporarily, because Adrian loves those things,) how his hair’s crazy soft when there was an introduction to shampoo the night before and no saltwater added since. How he looks just right asleep in Adrian’s passenger seat, like he trusts him enough to not let anything happen to him, and Adrian knows he’s always been a wary dude when he’s got his eyes closed. 

It feels like being at home after being away for, well, a year. Adrian thinks perhaps he’s jumping in just a bit too quick, but hell, he and Deran are kind of well-known for that sort of thing. Everything they’ve ever done has always been at full throttle, not caring about the brick wall they’re likely to hit on the other side. 

Honestly, past experience should be enough to encourage him _not_ to do it again this time, but Adrian’s only let good sense get in their way once in their lives. That should be enough.

When he pulls into the alley behind the bar, Adrian has a sudden urge to drive straight it, to kidnap Deran and take him with him on the tour, where he knows he’s safe, where his family and whoever hurt him can’t touch him again. But even though he’s pretty sure Deran would willingly come with him, he has a feeling Deran also would end up resenting him if he took him away from something he’s worked so hard to have.

Plus, Deran wakes up as he slows down, and Craig is standing at the back gate, and given that he’s got his bike, Adrian fully expects he’d chase them down just so he can get to whatever’s in Deran’s safe.

So instead he lets Deran climb painfully and silently out of the car with only a timid smile in his direction, and Adrian's not entirely sure how he’s supposed to behave when there’s an audience - Deran’s told him he’s out and that Craig apparently knew about them long before they’d broken up, but that doesn’t mean he wants his brother to see him, even if it's only because Craig is likely to give Deran epic amounts of shit.

He expects a goodbye, maybe Deran to wave before he walks through the gate. Adrian’s not really expecting him to come around to Adrian’s side of the car, lean in the window and tilt Adrian’s chin up to meet him in a slightly longer, more heated version of the only other kiss they’ve shared at this bar.

Adrian makes sure it’s slow and careful, lets it say all the things he can’t bring himself to, and even with Craig whooping like a monkey in the background, because he’s a fucking asshole even when he’s being supportive, it’s still one of their best. Top ten, at least. He’d have been happy to keep going on forever, but Deran tenses under his hands after only a minute, and Adrian lets him pull away and get himself sort of standing in a way that stops straining his ribs. 

“I’ll see you in a couple months, okay?”

Deran somehow manages to look stunning even when he's banged up and blushing, his hand running through his hair and his eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Go show them how good you are, man.”

“Yeah.” Adrian doesn’t know how to respond better than that, so he kisses Deran’s cheek when he leans in to drag him into a one-armed hug and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Take care of yourself til then, alright?”

Deran grins. “I’ll try.”

Adrian gives him one last kiss to the corner of his mouth then he has to go without putting it off anymore, or he’ll be staying and there goes his chances at the QS and all it could offer him if he gets it right this time. 

It feels a little less important now, which probably isn’t a good thing given how much he’s given up to try for it again, but Adrian doesn’t care. This thing with Deran feels like it could be incredible, as incredible as a top ranking in the tour, but he forces himself to drive away knowing that it’ll be there when he gets back.

He doesn’t know what excites him more - the potential with the QS, or the potential with Deran. Honestly, it’s probably Deran.

But really, it always has been, at the end of the day, and with Deran turning over this new leaf, Adrian's okay with that. He's got no idea how things will go from here - how badly the rape is going to affect Deran, or if he'll just pretend it didn't happen and then, well, that's likely to bite them in the ass. He doesn't know if the guy who did it will be stupid enough to try it again, in which case someone's going to be dead and someone will be in prison, Adrian just doesn't know who. He doesn't know how much the Cody family will fuck with their relationship now that Deran's willing to do things right.

But no matter how it goes, Adrian is willing to try his best to make it work if Deran does the same. After all, they've already been through hell together. Things really can only look up from here.


End file.
